Retribution
by ItsLukasBondevik
Summary: Jackson Rippner finds himself in jail, but he also finds someone else there too.


Jackson sat in his cell, biding his time. Most days he read, some days he worked out, but all was merely to pass the excruciating amounts of time until he was able to liberate himself. And no, not liberate through good behavior, or citizenship, or whatever the hell they called it. By breaking out, and just because you were known as a highly dangerous, wanted criminal that assisted in the attempted murder of a politician and several bystanders, didn't make it any more difficult to get out.

Not to mention the fact he was roomed with a petty thief as a cell mate, an annoying man who liked to boast about the crimes he'd gotten away with to anyone who would listen. Jackson found it annoying and tended to ignore him, stacking it all up to hyperbole and the fact that no one could prove him otherwise in here.

After dinner on the first day of the second week of his incarceration, he found himself stuck in his cell after dark with the infuriating man. He was heavy set, with a gnarled face and dirt brown eyes that held nothing worth talking about. He was base, vile, and from what Jackson had heard about him, remorseless for anything that he'd done. His only real crime, on any records anyway, was stealing fifty dollars from a convenience story at gun point. But, as Jackson was painfully listening to, the man had been quite the delinquent from the day he was born.

"...my mom, bless her soul, she didn't know what to do with me. I was a beast, a monster child." Jackson had to physically prevent himself from rolling his eyes as he stared out the barred window of their cell, his mind elsewhere completely. He had no patience for these trite recollections, but all this idiot wanted to do was talk and talk until Jackson wanted to cut the man's tongue out of his mouth. It was frustrating, irritating and never before did he have to deal with something his aggravating. He also had never been to jail before, so this was grating on his nerves more than usual.

"...she had this red hair, man, and a pretty little face. Brown eyes, and worked at some hotel, I don't remember the name. But she was a foxy lady." Jackson's attention was recaptured by that comment, and he turned towards the man in what the other inmate perceived as interest in his story.

"Who was this?" he asked calmly, suddenly feeling a wave of rage building up in the pit of his stomach.

The inmate laughed. "A girl, Rippner, keep up. Foxy red head, I always liked the reds. Anyway this lady was leaving for lunch I'm guessing, see, and you know men got needs." He winked at Jackson, who felt disgust eat at him, fill him with every heartbeat like poison. He knew what this man was saying, he knew what was going on. "So I took that little lady in the parking garage, knife to her throat so she wouldn't scream, wouldn't fight me, let me get done." The man chuckled as his eyes glazed over slightly in memory.

"She had perfect skin, white as snow, creamy, and soft," he said as if in a dream. "For being such a good girl, I left her a present too." He motioned a knife cut across his chest, just below the collarbone, and Jackson had to prevent himself from standing up, from attacking, from making this man hurt worse than he had ever hurt Lisa. His hands clenched, but his arms were folded over his chest and the man didn't notice a thing. Rippner had a gift for the poker face, and he needed it now more than ever. He had never felt so angry in his entire life.

"Best sex I ever had, even if the little girl didn't think so. I wonder if she looks at that cut and still thinks of what we had together." He tried so hard to keep calm, to keep from setting this man on fire and feeding him through a food chipper. Not necessarily in that order. He wanted to tear his limbs off with his bare hands, to make him hurt, to make him suffer for what he did to Lisa. He had torn her apart inside, and Jackson wanted to hurt him worse.

"Sounds like you enjoyed yourself," he said through gritted teeth, trying to keep himself in line, his breathing intentionally slow and methodical.

"So much, man, you have no idea." Jack Rippner gave the inmate his most accommodating smile, and for some reason, the man looked a little afraid. He stood from the bunk, the smile never leaving his face as he gripped the man by the front of his shirt. Fury was evident in his eyes, a fire in the deceiving baby blue that made his cell mate feel like he was dropped in a bucket of ice cold water. He was suddenly very afraid for his life, but confused at the same time.

He whispered menacingly, "There's nothing I hate more than a man who finds pleasure in hurting innocent women." His knuckles met bone as the inmate skid across the concrete floor and into the opposite wall. A flash of dark liquid was visible on Jackson's hand as he walked towards the man, who was limp on the floor. He picked the criminal up by the front of his shirt again, slamming his back against the wall, illiciting a pained grunt from his throat. "You're a sick human being. And I'll make sure you will never hurt her or anyone else again."

-break-

Jackson awoke the next morning quite refreshed, stretching in his bunk and looking around the cell. The inmate was still dangling from his sheet on the bar of the window, and he rolled his eyes, wondering why no one had picked him up yet. "Guard, I think we have a situation," he called out the window, sitting up in his bed with his elbow against his knee.

He didn't feel sorry for this man, nor would he ever. There was enough evidence to fabricate an in cell suicide that Jackson simply slept through. He chuckled to himself and watched the inmate get wheeled away on a stretcher, the sheet cut from his throat. If there was one thing he could do to make up everything he had done to Lisa, this was it.

Not that she'd ever know of course.

AN: What a dick, right? Go Jackson.


End file.
